By the Blade
by Rei Ronin
Summary: In the harsh and unforgiving wateland, life is lived by the blade and wars are fought to the knife. Can Jak give up the gun for the blade? Can he save the world from it's greatest trial yet? And what of the girl he loves?
1. Rescue

By The Blade

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A/N: I felt that after doing a bit of reading around in here, and a bit of replaying of Jak 3, that we needed a bit more of a Dune vibe. Therefore...I submit this. You'll also get a nice dose of melee fighting, which I find fun to write, and most people like to read.

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_Many things have happened to me in my time, short as it's been, on this planet. I've fought robots built by the gods with naught but my hands and my ability to channel Eco. I've been clubbed down by the butt of a rifle. I've been injected with toxic levels of Dark Eco…that which turned my buddy into an orange rat after a little swim. I've turned into a killing machine. I've been shot by beams of energy that scorched my flesh. I've been slashed by claws that parted my flesh like water. I've had currents that slowly cooked me from the inside out while sending my nerves mad run through me. And yes, Precursors forbid…I've endured pointless banter from someone riding my shoulder while fighting for my life._

_Still, there's something special about the torment of walking through the desert with no water, no food, and a pair of rival, not to mention chatty friends as companions. Did I mention that my clothing isn't really suited to desert survival either? All praises be for heavy cloth when it comes to riding a zoomer through an often stormy city, but it and heavy leather gloves do not make for something you want to wear in the desert. _

_All in all, the torment of dehydration while the sun slowly fries any exposed skin and roasts what IS under the cloth, is hardly pleasant. Not the worst pain I've endured…not by a long shot, but it isn't really the pain in this case. It's the sensation that your body is shutting down around you, and there isn't a think you can do about it outside of committing a horribly unspeakable act. That of killing your friend and eating his flesh. It would stop his complaining…but to do that? No. Never._

_Still, this crystal knife that Ashlein placed into my hand as she left keeps me looking at it. It's not because I want to slaughter Pecker and Daxter…but why in the name of Mar would someone make a knife blade out of a crystal? I know that she seems to think that this thing is my key to survival, but what am I supposed to do with it? Flash sunlight off the blade in an attempt to signal an EXTREMELY lost Wastelander? _

_Not that it matters. I've reached the end of my tether. My body simply can't go any further and I'm slumping and falling towards the sand. It's both silky smooth…and unbearably gritty. Precursors above! How could any sane person say that this is anything but a death sentence? Sticking a guy in the desert with nothing more than a knife that looked as if its blade was cut from some milky-white crystal of unknown origin…not giving him any lessons in desert survival. I've got half a mind to use this blade on myself…the other half of my mind is quite rationally informing me that I lack the energy to do that…rolling over and staring up at the sky just sapped the last. _

_Dumb idea. Normally a guy's vision would be going black, but me? Gray. Thrice-dammed sun. Blurry, too. Some hero I am. I kick the ass of what everyone thinks is the BIG BAD GUY, and plunge the people I saved from that into worse. Well, more a matter of me creating the right environment for such shit to happen. Hmmm…my vision's actually getting with the program…everything is black now. Now…if we get rid of the nudging, grabbing, and dragging sensations…and the muffled voices…we'll be good and unconscious…that or dead._

_Okay…let's stop with the sensation of being heaved onto a vehicle with a running engine. Let me die in peace! Wait…where's my knife? There we go...Jak has left the body._

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Damas looked over at the compact frame of the exiled Havenite that occupied the second seat of his personal vehicle, the Slam Dozer. How old was this boy? 17? 19? Less, perhaps? Something about the bone structure of the boy's face seemed somewhat familiar. But that was hardly impossible. He could easily be the descendant of someone he knew from the city…having a crysknife only made that more likely. Now…what royal bloodline did that boy come from?

A gust of scouring sand cut off Damas's musings and made him wrap his robes tighter to his body. The storms did not discriminate on the status of nobility or power…they would still rip the flesh from one's bones all the same. He hit the turbos, nodding in approval as Kleiver stuck to his vehicle's side in the Sand Shark. Ahead of them rode the Gila Stomper, with a trio of warriors in it.

And here were the sand-scoured walls of the city looming out of the blowing sand. Damas watched as his Wastelanders maneuvered their vehicles into their places in the garage. All of the gathered around the Slam Dozer, even as Damas grabbed his staff and jumped off. "Kleiver…go to Seem and tell her that I require her presence, along with that of a number of her monks. Warriors…bring these three to my throne room. The water there will provide an atmosphere conducive to their recovery." He gave a tight smile as the Wastelanders jumped to his orders, then looked down at the crysknife. It was of elaborate make…that of a high royal. Could the boy be a relative of Praxis? Was his banishment due to him revolting against the Baron? Had Praxis been overthrown, perhaps? Damas sheathed the knife in a black leather sheath that had held his old knife. Hmm…it fit well. Well, it stood to reason that Praxis would adopt the royal design for his family. Scum…though perhaps this child was not.

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Kleiver swaggered through Spargus to where the Precursian Monks stayed in the city. He knew full well that they did not like him, especially their female leader…Seem. That didn't change the fact that they obeyed the orders of Damas explicitly…as did anyone in Spargus who wasn't a fool. Though they would not like the fact that Kleiver was delivering the orders, something which gave a bit of wry amusement to the heavily scarred man.

Raising his meaty hand, Kleiver banged on the solid wood door that kept the monks cloistered from the rest of Spargus. "Ey! Damas says that your whole paint-faced band is to double time it to his throne room! We brought some interesting items in from the desert!"

The door swung open, revealing an irritated Seem. "I suppose this has to do with the beacon the scanners picked up? Fine." The rubber and Precursor metal-wearing woman brushed by him, her monks following. They climbed onto Leaper Lizards, preparing to get to the throne room post-haste.

"That little blip was no beacon, priest. It was a crysknife." Kleiver smirked as even Seem drew an involuntary breath before riding off. _Assuming that boy survives the arena, he might be useful. I can't see a crysknife carrier being snuffed by a little heat, even if he was dressed like some borehead!

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_

Damas quirked a smile as the royal boy and his talking rat revived. The rodents antics in the water were actually somewhat amusing. But amusement was not what he was looking for. He was looking for the repayment of the debt to Spargus. "Heh. So you're alive. My monks were ready to pray for you." The royal-blooded boy looked up at him in surprise, yet said nothing. "I am Damas, King of Spargus."

That got the young man's attention. "Wait…no one lives outside the walls. Not a whole city!" He seemed quite surprised, not an entirely strange thing.

Damas got to his feet, grabbing his staff and walking down the stairs towards Jak. "Yes…we are the forgotten ones. Haven's 'refuse', thrown out and left to die, much as you were. But now that we have saved you, your lives belong to us now. Soon we shall see if they are of any use to us."

Damas's lavender eyes widened slightly as the boy stood and stared him down. "You need to work on your first impressions."

Spargus's king laughed in morbid amusement as he easily tripped the blonde boy and walked back to his throne. "Here in the unforgiving Wasteland, we value strength and survival. We live by the blade, and you had best remember that if you want to live." As he sat down, he tossed the crysknife onto the boy's chest. "Your crysknife. It shall be your weapon as you are tested in the Arena. If you prove yourself best, crawling out of the Arena at the end, we shall see what happens to you."

The rat spoke up. "What happens to those who don't crawl out?"

"Then it shall be as if we never found you. Go." Damas watched as the boy climbed to his feet, grasping the knife firmly. He could have sworn the rodent said something along the lines of 'I was afraid of that', but the boy seemed calm. _Promising.

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A/N: Well, that's the first. Review if you like, or if you don't.


	2. Arena

By the Blade

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A/N: Well, here's the second chapter. Shall we get in to the blade play? Grins evilly and runs his thumb over the hilt of a sword at his side. Yes we shall.

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Jak bounced the 'crysknife' in his hand, feeling its heft and balance. Truth be told, he had never tried fighting with a melee weapon other than a particularly disastrous incident when Daxter had talked him into trying to use Samos's sagely staff as a weapon.

It worked just fine against Lurkers, but Samos had been none too happy. As always, Daxter had gotten the worst of it, though Jak had caught quite a bit of flak. Jak's punishment was more of a matter of Samos finding Kiera's diary and reading some of the more…_swooning_ passages in it, but that wasn't important. What was important was that Jak had fought by fists, feet, eco, and guns before, but never with a knife.

_Still, _thought Jak, slashing experimentally a few times with the knife before sheathing it at his side,_ how hard could it be?_ He stood and tightened all the straps on his outfit, then stretched a little bit. He actually had a chance to prepare for this fight, and he was going to take it.

Daxter, however, was none too pleased by their predicament. True to form, he voiced his displeasure. "Man, this sucks! These Wastelanders have a twisted sense of humor, you know that, right, Jak? I mean," the ottsel started pacing back and forth on a convenient ledge, "They rescue us from certain death…which by the way, I was TOTALLY in favor of. But then they decide to toss us into some arena to prove if we were worth the fuel in their transport or something?"

Jak sighed as he finished his stretches. "Well, we don't really have too much choice, do we, Dax?" He offered his shoulder to his furry friend, who jumped on and leaned against the blonde's hair. "I'm not saying that I wouldn't be happier if I had my morph-gun, or if I knew how to knife-fight…" A vaguely familiar voice came through the thick metal door that lead into the arena. "…Does that announcer's voice sound familiar?" asked Jak of Daxter.

The orange-furred once-elf nodded his head even as the Arena door slid up. "…wet themselves in fear for our amusement! Today we witness two newcomers battling for their right to stay among us! Give it up for Jak and his pet orange rat!" the voice that hit them was familiar…and belonged to one of the few people who could make even a tenuous claim to being able to out-talk Daxter.

Pecker. Jak cast his gaze about, searching for the Monkaw. The elf's keen vision found him playing to the crowd from a balcony that dominated the stands. A convenient platform jutted out from it, at a lower level. Jak got the feeling that he should go stand there. Another platform gave him an easy path to get to it, so long as he could jump.

Jak could jump. With a pair of bounds that were extraordinary even for the naturally nimble elven race, he made his way to the central platform, looking up to see Damas sitting on a throne that Pecker was now perched on the arm of. "There you are, Pecker…"

Daxter burst in. "What the hell are you doing up there, feather-butt?"

Pecker gave a purely sarcastic, mocking bow. "Damas says I am to be his new advisor. He knows my wisdom will serve him well." He glared at Daxter's expression, but shied to the side as Damas stood.

"Pecker speaks the truth," he confirmed. "We know that you have agility, but that is not nearly enough for a warrior. Hand over your crysknife so that it may be prepared for battle." He looked down to Jak's eyes, testing the young man.

Jak nodded and unsheathed the blade, tossing it up to Damas, who smiled slightly. This one was a warrior and no doubt. Whether he was a warrior worthy of the title of Wastelander was another matter, and they would soon see. Taking an intricately carved red Eco crystal, he opened the crysknife's hilt and inserted the gem in one of four open sockets, noting with pleasant surprise that the knife had an extra series of Eco channels that would let a channeler use the knife to its greatest potential. Whether the boy was a channeler or not was yet to be seen, but it was possible. He closed the knife's hilt and tossed it back to Jak, who caught it adroitly.

"You will find that by concentrating on a specific color of Eco, you will be able to call forth a number of different weapons from the crysknife. As of now, only the red Eco function is available to you. It is a weapon we call the bo." Damas's lavender eyes watched Jak carefully as the crystal of the knife turned red and formed itself into a six-foot long round staff. The boy smirked as he saw it. "Your opponents will be captured Marauders, fighting for their freedom. Expect no quarter…it will not be given."

Daxter bit his nails. "Wait a second…you mean real people…with real weapons? Who actually want to hurt us?"

"That's just fine with me," said Jak with a wolfish grin. He spun the staff and couched it along the inside of his arm. "Bring them on."

Daxter glared at Pecker, then pointed up at Damas. "Dammit, I want to be on HIS shoulder!" But Daxter stayed on Jak's shoulder as the blonde got on the platform that lowered them to the arena floor.

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It didn't take long for the fight to start once Jak was on the platform. Four burly men in metal helmets and minimal clothing leapt out of elevated boxes evidently tasked for keeping warriors. Each of them wielded a large sword that seemed to be made of rusty scraps of armor. Though nominally curved, that was mostly a function of them having straight sections at gentle angles to each other. They weren't exactly the most well-crafted weapons ever made. 

That didn't mean that they weren't dangerous. Jak rolled out of the way of a jumping overhead strike, lashing out with a wide sweeping strike of the bo that slammed into the big man's ribs with an explosive crack. Had Jak not dodged, the badly sharpened weapon would have still torn through his clothing and skin, then pulverized his collarbone…and likely have continued a ways further into his torso. That would kill him just as dead as repeated blasts from any of the various energy weapon in common use in Haven. As such, it was to be devoutly avoided.

Even as the first Marauder tumbled across the platform and into the lava from Jak's powerful strike, the blonde warrior felt more than heard another Marauder rushing up behind him. The red crystal bo shot backwards, spearing into the large man's neck, crushing his windpipe. The bandit staggered back, dropping his sword and clutching at his ruined throat.

Jak turned to face him, bo staff held almost like a rifle being fired from the hip, and pointing directly at the doomed man's chest. Jak's eyes narrowed as he fought instinctively, drawing on his long-unused channeling powers. With a 'thoom' a red tinged distortion erupted from the staff's tip and slammed into the man, crushing his rib cage and throwing him violently against a rocky spar that jutted out from the caldera wall that formed the Arena. The already-dead body stuck there, the heated rocks cooking it slowly.

The other two from this group were charging at him together, swords held high. Just as they started to bring them down to crush Jak, he spun out of the way, sliding the bo staff out so that it was more fully extended, and smashing the both of them across the lumbar region, snapping their backs handily. The upshot of this was paralysis from the hips down…as the two rushed at the edge of the platform. Both of them fell into the lava face-first.

Jak grimaced as he turned to face the first of this new wave, parrying a sideways swing of the heavy sword the bandit wielded above his head before bringing the other end of the bo up behind his back, blasting the Marauder with another scatter gun-like distortion, then swinging the bo in an overhead arc that brought the opposite end of the weapon down on the staggering gladiator's helmet, crushing it and the head it contained.

The next one charged him with his sword held out in front of him, intending to run Jak through. The short elf sidestepped and gave a grunting chuckle as the weapon stuck fast to the small rectangular structure Jak had stood in front of. It also seemed that the weapon had hooked the Marauder's gauntlet, trapping the bandit there…as alarms went off.

Jak hopped up onto the structure, emulating the other two Marauders. It proved to be a wise choice, as the platform sunk into the lava a ways, much to the misfortune of the barbarian who had just tried to stab Jak. The young elf ignored the death scream of the Marauder and gratefully took the break offered, planting the staff upright next to him. "Holding up alright, Dax?"

"Yeah, sure. Looks like you got a nice substitute for the scatter gun. Not quite as good as getting the blaster back, though." Jak nodded in agreement. "What about you, man? I mean, you're kicking ass but…"

"Don't worry, Dax," said Jak as the platform rose so lava no longer covered it. He took up combat stance again and charged at the two Marauders, who were perfectly willing to let their ticket to freedom come to them so that they could slaughter him on their terms.

They got a little more than they bargained for when Jak dodged both of their furious downward strokes and leapt into the air, arms outstretched and body parallel to the ground, both legs sweeping out to hit each of them in turn. As they started to stumble back, Jak planted the bo and used it to acrobatically regain his footing before blasting them without looking back at the two.

The crowd's roar, which had been loud until then, suddenly became deafening. But even as the wave of sound rolled over Jak, he was intercepting another downward swing of a sword with the tip of his bo and blowing it back the way it came with another of the distortions. As the sword flew out of the barbarian's astonished grip on a high arc, Jak drove a side kick into the man's stomach before thrusting a knife-hand into the bandit's throat.

Things were going far too well. Therefore, old Murphy made his appearance as a Marauder leapt off of one of the refuges from the lava, sword smashing down at Jak. The blonde barely managed to get the bo up perpendicular in time to fend off the strike, and as it was, he was knocked on his back, struggling to keep the much stronger Marauder from overpowering his defenses in the bench press from hell. It wasn't working too well. Jak might have been much faster, skilled, and far more agile than the barbarians, but they were also much stronger than him. The hero's teeth ground together and sweat poured from his red face as he strained to keep the Marauder's blade from his body.

"I'm going to kill you, little boy," growled the Marauder. "In the name of my clan, I will kill you for my people's freedom, and for the ghosts of those you have already sent to the storms!" He pressed down harder, and Jak knew that he had lost. Even if he could keep the blade away much longer, there were still two more Marauders on the platform…at least. Occupied as he was, there was no way he could keep them from slaughtering him.

A look of despair crossed Jak's face, and in that moment, the barbarian struck, angling his sword and stabbing down at Jak's face. The hero's eyes went wide and only a blindingly quick head jerk to the side kept his skull from being smashed. As it was, the bandit's blade took a notch out of his ear. The pain triggered a rage that swept through Jak. Grunting, he forced one end of the bo up, kicking out the same side's leg from under the barbarian, taking the big man off of his feet.

As the Marauder fell, the red crystal of the bo disappeared, leaving just the milky-white bladed knife in Jak's hand...exactly how Jak wanted it. Accelerating the barbarian's flip to his right with a left-handed punch that broke ribs, Jak flipped so that he straddled the burly man's torso and stabbed down into the man's sternum.

The crysknife sunk in with surprisingly little resistance before Jak ripped it out, eyes closed as blood sprayed out. When he opened them again, they were deep, pitch black.

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Spargus's records would later note that it took nearly seventy stunner blasts to lay the beast low.

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A/N: Well, there's that. I hope you liked this somewhat violent chapter...yeah, right, somewhat. Shrugs Hand to hand combat to the deathisn't renowned for being pretty. Fun to write and read perhaps, but not pretty.Anyway, this isn't the end of the story, not hardly. I've still got plenty to play with, and I intend to see this one through to the end. I hope that it continues to be enjoyable for those of you who read it. Speaking of which...I believe that it's time to thank and respond to my reviewers.

**Keep Me In The Shadows: **Well, first of all, I'd like to thank you for being my first reviewer. I guess I'm going to have to read some of your stuff, huh? Heh...I'm looking forward to it. And thanks for the cookie...it was delicious. Holds out a plate of fresh-baked cookies Try one of mine?

**Air of Shadows: **Well, I think that it's pretty hard not to draw the conclusion that Duneelements can be easily be added to Jak 3's setting. That being said, I'm glad to know that I'm not alone in my thinking, even if my crysknife is not exactly that of the Fremen, as you've seen. I'll give a more complete explanation into how it works in the next chapter.Sandworms will also play a part of the story.As for the Precursor monks, yeah, they are alot like the Bene Gesserit, though Seem's outfit first reminded me of the Fremen's stillsuits. From there it wasn't hard to imagine her saying "Back! I know your weirding ways!" to Jak in their firstmeeting. That was the genesis of the Dune elements creeping into this story. That being said, Seem would appear to be the type that would use a gom jabbar over a lasgun. I hope to see your story soon.

I guess that's all for now. See you next chapter!


	3. Recovery

By the Blade

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A/N: These chapters are just rolling out onto your eager little screens, aren't they? I thank you all for your reviews, and hope that the quality is holding. Now, I think it's time for our hero to wake up. Wake up Jak…

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Jak regained a hazy measure of consciousness, waking to find the last rays of the sun slanting in through the windows of the room he was in. His bleary eyes made out two elven figures in the shadows, seeming to talk. A large, somewhat fat bird with a strange curled up tail flapped in the air near one of them, and a small furry figure stood on a table by his bedside.

"Jak?" asked the furry figure. "You okay, man?" The voice sounded far off and elicited dull pain's in the blonde's head. He moaned and the two elven figures looked over at him. One of them lit an oil lamp, and the sudden stabbing pain of the bright point of the light source brought Jak to full wakefulness.

It also illuminated Damas, Pecker, Daxter, and a Seem who was already leaving, casting a baleful look at a fat man with extensive scarring on his head that seemed to stand guard outside. Jak tried to sit up, but found his wrists tied to the sides of the bed. He looked up to see Damas approach. "Something you haven't told us, animal man?" he asked without preamble.

Jak groaned and started to answer, but Daxter cut in. "My boy here gets all mean and nasty when you piss him off. So don't piss him off. Word to the wise." He had a big smirk on his face as he said that, one that faltered as Pecker perched on Damas's shoulder.

"He has been touched with Dark Eco, my liege," said Pecker in a 'mystical' voice.

Damas considered this for only a moment. "This makes you dangerous beyond your skills, and therefore useful." Taking Jak's crysknife, he cut the bindings from the blonde's hands. "Also, the fact that you are a channeler is of great use to us, and will let you wield this blade well." The crysknife was pressed into Jak's hands again and Damas walked away from Jak, hand clasped behind his back. "I have activated a new form for you blade. Use it well in your service to us, for you are now a soldier of Spargus. Win yet again in the Arena, and you are a warrior. Once more after that, and you may lay claim to the title of Wastelander." He turned to face Jak. "Do you understand?"

Jak sat up and nodded. "Yes…I think so. Damas, sir?"

"Yes?"

Jak looked down at the crysknife. "What is this knife? I never saw a weapon like it until it was pressed into my hand as I was banished."

Damas looked at Jak in surprise. "You do not know? A crysknife is a carved tooth of one of the great Makers. Anyone who wields a crysknife is blessed in carrying a fang of Shai-Hulud."

"Makers?"

"Seem would be able to explain much better than I, but it is suffice to say that the creature who gave that tooth so that it could become your weapon is one of the creators of all Eco. Their teeth are unfixed Eco crystals, and the hilt allows us to influence their form and type. It is a powerful and valuable weapon you've been given. Know its worth." Damas then pulled a pair of pistols on a gunbelt sporting quick-draw holsters from a peg on the wall. "That being said, sometimes one must use a gun. These are a pair of the pistols that the Praxis's officers would wield. Their blast is much like that of a scatter gun but much more focused. Use them when you need them, but remember that they are naught but tools. You crysknife is your weapon. It will never leave you without ammunition, and you will find that in the Wasteland, ammunition is quite scarce."

Jak slid his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, buckling on the gunbelt and strapping the crysknife's sheath to the small of his back. "I understand. What would you have me do, king?"

"For now, nothing. Familiarize yourself with Spargus, and meet some of those who live here, especially Kleiver and Seem. Both of them are valued persons in my eyes." Damas picked up his staff and walked out as Jak bowed, blue eyes following the warrior king's retreating back. Pecker's feathered form followed Damas, so Jak was left alone with Daxter.

"Hooo!" exclaimed Daxter. "Talk about your strong leaders! He makes the Baron seem downright cuddly. Man, Jak, what are we gonna do? We're from Haven!" He seemed to be pleading for Jak to have a solution to their problems.

Jak couldn't agree with Daxter's assessment of the Baron and Damas, but he let it slide. "He certainly is firm…though very honorable, I think. And you forget Dax, we're not Havenites at all. We're from Sandover." Jak omitted the fact that he was indeed from Haven, but that hardly mattered. He considered Sandover to be his true home. "We'll make it just fine, you'll see." Daxter jumped onto his shoulder. "Well, let's see this city." He opened the door and strode out.

"Those were some pretty sweet moves in the arena boy, but a little more choke, and you woulda popped, eh?" Jak whirled to the sound of the voice, hand reaching back to where he was accustomed to his morph-gun being…

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A/N: And that's all I wrote for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Anyway, it should be evident that there's more coming. Hopefully it'll be an enjoyable more. All this being said however, it's review response time. Everyone gets a cookie, but for those of you who give insightful reviews or I feel like making a comment to will get a little mention here from now on.

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**Keep Me In The Shadows: **Heh, I kinda have an advantage when it comes to fight scenes. I'm a martial arts practitioner, and that kinda helps me. Besides, for the over-the-top stuff, I'm a bit of a kung fu movie lover. As for the cookie, one good turn deserves another, no? And it would be horribly bad form to forget my first reviewer for my comeback, no? Rest assured, I won't do it.

**Jaklover123:** Let's not be hasty. Swords, polearms, bows, and blunt weapons take skill to use, and a lot of it, but people underestimate the skill needed to be truly good with a gun. That being said, as a Expert rifle and pistol shooter as well as an American Archer, I can say that guns have much less 'soul' to them than a bow or especially a sword.

**Air of Mystery:** Confession? I liked the movie too, though the SciFi miniseries was much better. That dark secret being shared…I hadn't really thought of water as a problem for Spargus…they are right on the sea, and drinking water can be derived from the ocean. Of course, with your permission, I do think the idea has merit, and I'd like to have the Wastelanders and Marauders do battle over a nice secluded oasis sanctuary that the Marauders captured a while ago from Spargus. I hope you won't be too offended by my keeping the crysknives named that, as their core structure isn't too far removed from FH, just given a bit of 'Morph-gun' functionality. Mixes up the abilities a bit…knives are a bit limited.

**Mandy138:** I'm sure there's more worthy Jak fiction…you just need to look for it. Granted, most of the real gems are Jak 2 fics or from the original game, but there's plenty of good reading if you look hard enough.


	4. Meetings

By the Blade

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A/N: Been a while, hasn't it? Sorry, but hopefully you can forgive me.

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Jak stayed his hand as he realized that it would be a very bad idea to go for a weapon, especially one that he didn't have. The speaker, a large man with an extensive network of scars covering one side of his face, already held a weapon in hand, a rifle that looked very capable of being used in a close-in fight. And there seemed to be a knife sheathed at his side. A crysknife? Jak didn't know.

The blonde sneered. "You talking to me?"

"Oh no," replied the man with sarcastic vitriol, "I'm conversing with my dear, departed mum. Of course you…you bore-head." He snorted and shook his head slightly, looking up at the sky slightly. "Word is that you're from the big smoke, eh?"

"Who wants to know?" growled Jak, his hands settling on his belt, near both his pistols and his crysknife.

"The names Kleiver," said the ugly elf, almost affably before thrusting his face in with a low growl. "I run this town and don't you forget it! Do right by me and you'll do just fine. Don't and the Marauders, scavengers, and sands will be competing to be the ones that scour your bones."

"Great stink of the Precursors! Two words for you, road map face. Tooth brush," quipped Daxter as Kleiver drew back.

Kleiver glared at Daxter, then looked at Jak. "Wanna sell me the rat? He's a bit bony and loudmouthed to be an emergency food source, but skinned and buttered, he might be a nice treat."

Jak shook his head. "Damas said that I should meet you. Are you his straw boss or something?"

"I'm his right-hand man. Keep that in mind. Now, if you're fixing to live here in Spargus instead of just slitting your throat with you fine knife, we're going to need to get you fixed up with a stillsuit and sandcloak. Remember, you're going to owe me for this."

Jak nodded and followed Kleiver off to what looked like a clothing shop.

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All together, Jak found the stillsuit to not exactly the most stylish garment, but certainly a practical one. A full-body suit with both a form of kinetic armor and a water reclamation system built in, it was also good for controlling one's temperature in the sun. Along with it came a cloak of a fairly thick material that was resistant to scouring, protection from light sandstorms, and if one could find a crevice to shelter in, could be used to seal it off from the outside world for large sandstorms. And it wasn't particularly bulky or restrictive. In fact, he could easily see battle armor being worn over it.

"Very nice."

"It ain't free," growled Kleiver. "Ere." He shoved a large and heavy case into Jak's arms. "I'm willing to be Damas wants you to go meet the paint-face Seem. Her monks have ordered this hazard gear. Go take it to her…it'll be the start of paying off your debt."

* * *

Jak grunted as he dropped the case at the feet of the monks. "Kleiver said you needed this stuff…and Damas said I should meet Seem. I'm Jak."

One of the monks turned to Jak. "I know who you are, abomination." Jak scowled. He would never have guessed it from looks, but they did have a female voice. "I am Seem, Priestess of Mar."

Jak wasn't exactly impressed, instead looking to the thing the monks needed the hazard gear for. It was nasty-looking, sure…and it had to be using Dark Eco for Jak to feel such a strong presence of the stuff in the area, but he couldn't see it really being all that dangerous. "Right. So what's with needing all this hazard gear for that thing? It's dead." He gestured at it, only to have bolts of Dark Eco crackle in between him and it. "Huh." All of the monks had backed off and were making what Jak assumed to be signs of warding.

Daxter smirked. "I think it likes you, Jak."

He snorted. "Well, too bad for it. I'm declining it the dance." He walked up and banged on it, a viewscreen popping up. Script scrolled over it, but nothing that Jak could read. He turned away and dismissed it, noticing Seem reading the screen with interest.

"Interesting…"

Suddenly, Daxter noticed a rip in the thing's shell, and what looked to be Precursor metal inside. Orbs were still good in his book, so he jumped in to grab it, retrieving it adroitly. Seem glared at Daxter, as the removal of what looked to be crystallized Dark Eco had shut down the screen. "Hoo yeah! Take a look at this thing, Jak! I bet it's worth all kinds of cash!" Jak gave a tight smile and put it in his pack.

Seem scowled. "You may carry the color of our creators, but you hardly share their wisdom. There was so much that could have been learned from that screen. Put that crystal back."

Jak shook his head. "No. I don't think I will." He pointed at it, about to make another point, but another bolt of Dark Eco leaped from him, setting off a mechanism that blasted a great purple beam into the sky for about two seconds before the thing detonated in a wash of gaseous Dark Eco.

"Damas is making a mistake with you," Seem growled. "Hero you might have ONCE been, but you are nothing more than a dangerous liability now. How do you intend to save the world when you yourself are doomed?"

Jak turned and walked away. "I've saved it twice…it can damn well do fine until someone else steps up. Come on, Dax…"

* * *

A/N: Been a while, it's short and there's no combat in it. I know. Forgive me. But sometimes, exposition is necessary and other things can steal time from one piece of fanfiction. Anyway, I love to hear what people think of my writing, so please review.


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